Pirate Wolf Trilogy (53 page)

No helpless,
blushing dove, this one.

“Young,” he
said carefully. “I was about to say you looked too young to bear
such a burden of responsibility. I meant no disrespect, I assure
you.”

His bad attempt
at a feint put the hint of a smile on her lips.

“In that case,
to save you any further consternation, the gentleman standing over
there trying to pretend he can make calculations in his head is my
quartermaster, Nathan Crisp, and he is as old as Beelzebub.”

“Not by half,”
Crisp objected.

Varian was
still studying the girl’s face. He had read every scrap of
documentation with the Dante name on it before he departed England.
He’d read the English, the French, the Dutch, even the Spanish
reports dating back some thirty years and knew there were two sons
who had followed in their father’s footsteps. Nowhere had he found
a reference to the pirate wolf having a daughter, much less one who
commanded her own armed privateer.

He must have
winced under the weight of his thoughts, for without warning, she
reached out and laid a hand across his forehead. Her fingers were
long and cool and although they were withdrawn after a moment or
two, he continued to feel their imprint long after.

“You have no
fever and we’ve not seen the wine again. I suspect, apart from the
ringing in your left ear, nothing has been too badly damaged.”

“How do you
know my left ear is ringing?”

She reached out
again and this time when she touched him, it was to scratch a small
fleck of dried blood off his neck. “You were fairly close to the
explosion. You’re lucky you didn’t lose your hearing entirely.”

“Beacom said
you tended my wounds. You are the ship’s surgeon as well as the
captain?”

“Necessity
dictates that everyone learns to do a little of everything.
Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury of a surgeon. The carpenter
has some skill with a saw and auger, thus he usually handles the
serious wounds. If you had a cut or a gash, the sailmaker would ply
his trade, but a cracked head and a bruised rump hardly seemed
critical enough to warrant special attention despite the—” she
paused to glare at Beacom— “incessant and interminable wailings of
your manservant.”

Varian
attempted a smile, one that showed a lot of straight white teeth
and cost very little in effort. “You must forgive Beacom’s
enthusiasm. He served my father and my elder brother before me and
has very rigid standards to which everyone—including myself—must
aspire.” And although she did not ask, he added, “I had two older
brothers, actually, but neither had the foresight to produce an
heir before they died, and so here I am, the twelfth Duke of Harrow
by default. It is a tiresome and annoying responsibility, but it is
mine and I must bear it as best I can.” He paused, sweetening his
smile with small, seductive curve, one that rarely failed to soften
a woman’s heart and limbs. “May I say, Captain, since we are
discussing merits, that I was impressed by your display of
swordsmanship on board the galleon. I warrant not ten men of my
acquaintance could have conducted themselves so admirably.”

“I do not fight
to impress anyone, my lord. I fight to survive a day longer than my
enemy.”

“
Nonetheless, for a woman—” He stopped, feeling yet another
distinct thud inside his chest as she turned the full power of
those remarkable eyes back on him. “For a
young
woman such as yourself,” he amended slowly, “I
would perhaps have suggested a lighter blade. Your left shoulder
tends to droop somewhat when you tire and a more diligent foe might
be able to take advantage.”

Her eyebrow
arched. “You say that as if your expertise goes beyond knowing how
to choose your plumage to match your founts of lace.”

Beacom let out
a gasp that sounded like it had remained strangled in his throat
too long. “Good gracious heavens, madam! Milord, his grace the Duke
of Harrow, is one of the most renowned swordsmen in all of England!
His reputation is legion among the very masters of Europe. His
sword, madam, was a gift from His Most Gracious Majesty King James,
bestowed by his own hand. Moreover, for these past many years, that
selfsame sword has been at the king’s right hand, there but to
answer the crown’s call at the merest hint of peril. His grace is a
former captain of the Royal Guard, as well as a loyal and—”

Varian shot the
spluttering Beacom a look that squeezed the valet’s throat shut,
reducing the last few accolades to soundless movements of his
lips.

But the words
that had already been spoken could not be unspoken and Varian saw
Juliet Dante’s head tilt slightly to one side as if she had caught
a scent of something foul in the air.

“So.” She
crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “We are in the company
of a trusted confident of King James. A former captain of his
majesty’s garters.”

“
Th-that
would be
guards
, madam.”
Beacom held up a spindly finger to protest. “C-captain of the
king’s
guards
.”

Juliet did not
take her eyes off St. Clare. “Mr. Crisp. If that wretched little
man says one more word, take him out onto the gallery and drop him
overboard.”

“Aye. With
pleasure,” Crisp grinned. “Mayhap, if he swims fast enough, he can
catch up with the Spaniards.”

Varian looked
shocked. “You threw the Spanish prisoners overboard?”

“In a manner of
speaking,” she said dryly. “We landed them a hundred yards off an
atoll, in water shallow enough for them to walk the rest of the
way. What business brings you to the Caribbee?”

“My own,”
Varian replied curtly. “And none of yours.”

For the
briefest fraction of a second her hand moved toward the hilt of her
sword.

“
Lieutenant Beck said the
Argus
was a courier ship, bound for New Providence. An odd choice
of vessels for an English duke to go adventuring on... unless of
course you have come to deliver copies of the king’s new bible in
an attempt to cleanse our heathen souls and mend us of our
larcenous ways?”

Crisp guffawed.
Varian glared.

“Some might
regard it as an adventure to sail half way across the world in a
leaking wooden bucket, madam, but I assure you, I considered it
nothing shy of hell.”

“Then why are
you here? And spare me the further insult of denying that you are
another of the king’s lackeys sent to spout dictums of peace.”

“I am no man’s
lackey, madam.”

“And I am no
man’s dupe, sir. The king has been sending a plague of messengers
here for the past five years and they all bring missives demanding
the same thing. They want us to stop attacking Spanish ships; they
want us to leave the Caribbean entirely. They—and I must presume it
is not entirely the king’s idea, for he holds his royal hand out
readily enough when we send his percentage of the prize monies back
to London—they presume to think that if we cease to harass the
Spaniards, Phillip III will happily open the ports to honest trade.
The last buffoon who came brandishing his sealed and beribboned
documents even threatened to rescind all letters of marque. A
threat, I might add, which had us trembling in abject terror, as
you can imagine.”

Despite the
contempt in her voice, Varian could not help but be intrigued. The
pale blue of her eyes were sparked with azure flecks, changing
their character entirely. Where there had been amused indifference
and disdain a few brief moments ago, there was now a depth of anger
and passion that almost took his breath away. The heat had moved
into her face as well, burnishing the already lusty effects of the
sun and sea, suffusing her skin with enough of a ruddy glow to make
him wonder what she would look like if she removed the scruffy blue
bandana and let her hair loose about her shoulders.

“Well?”

He blinked.
“Well... what?”

“
Do you
honesty believe the Spanish would ever honor a treaty with England?
Can you even
pretend
to
believe it after your own ship was attacked without provocation?
Hah! No, you cannot. There has been no peace beyond the line for a
hundred years, and the fact your king and his ministers now send a
duke in fancy plumage to deliver more of their puling threats
changes nothing... except, perhaps, the method of your removal from
my ship.”

Varian’s
temples throbbed anew. She had the distinct advantage in this duel
of wits and words for he was wounded, naked, lying flat in a bed
with no recourse but to let her flay him with her contempt. In
spite of the way she fought and talked and looked beneath all the
grime and dried blood that stained her clothing, she was still a
woman, for heaven’s sake, and he had never met a woman he could not
seduce with a smile and a silky word. Until now, that is, for this
one appeared to be completely immune. She was not afraid of him,
not the least impressed with his title or his position as the
king’s emissary, nor did she seem to be concerned that she had just
threatened to drown a peer of the realm.

Some of
what he was thinking must have shown in the sudden tightness in his
jaw, for she leaned forward and smiled. “Indeed, my lord, you are
not in London now and there are no courtiers present. You have no
friends on board this ship, no power, no authority, no influence
over so much as the lowliest seaman. On board the
Iron
Rose
, I am the only
authority. I am the queen, the duchess, the countess, the high
priestess, and the only one who decides whether you remain here, as
our guest... or become fodder for the first school of sharks we see
swimming past. Had we not happened along when we did, the Spaniards
would have sunk you and left no witness behind to the deed. Make no
mistake, sir: it would not cause me a moment in lost sleep to do
likewise.”

Varian stared
up into eyes as implacably cold as ice and had no reason to doubt
her. He did not believe in coincidences, and while he might have
been persuaded to believe at first that it was by the greatest
stroke of good fortune he had wakened to find himself in the
presence of the daughter of one of the men he had indeed sailed
halfway around the world to find, nothing could convince him he had
not simply wakened into another kind of hell.

He was not
given to blushing like a shy dove either, but nothing in his
experience had prepared him to do battle with this blue-eyed Amazon
and he could feel the blood rising warmly beneath his skin.

Her point made
and her position clear, Juliet Dante turned without another word
and walked back to the desk. Crisp, who Varian had already
recognized as a man of few words, smirked at him with the
belligerence accorded idiots and annoying children.

The duke drew a
slow, calming breath. The wine he had enjoyed earlier now rolled
over in his stomach with an audible gurgle and raised a sour bubble
in his throat.

“
Excuse
me
Captain
, but may
I at least ask where we are and where we are bound?”

Juliet answered
without glancing up from her charts. “You are about twenty leagues
distance from where you were, and you are bound for wherever we
take you.”

“Are you by
chance thinking to hold me for ransom? If so, you should know the
king is exceptionally... penurious. I doubt he would pay much for
my return.”

“If I had the
time to drop you off at a British port, believe me I would sir, and
not ask a farthing for the pleasure of doing so.”

“In that case,
Captain Dante, I would be verily obliged if you would take me to
your father.”

“I beg your
pardon?”

“I said—”

“I heard what
you said. I also heard you deny not five minutes ago that you were
one of the king’s lackeys.”

“
I denied
being a
lackey
. I did
not deny being dispatched to this godforsaken place to meet with
your father.”

“Why?”

“
I really
am not at liberty to say at the moment. I will tell you this much,
however, that if the
Argus
had made
it safely to New Providence, and if I had met with... as an
example... Captain David Smith, or Captain Frederick Mounts, or any
of a dozen other privateers before ever hearing your father’s name,
I would have been able to discharge my commission for the king and
be happily on my way back to London on the next ship. The fact it
was you who intervened today, and your father happens to be Simon
Dante,” he added, “ who also happens to be one of the men I have
been empowered to meet with, bears no extra weight of importance
other than it is an incredible coincidence that happens to be
incredibly convenient.”

“I do not
believe in coincidences, sir.”

“
Nor do
I. Nonetheless, it appears to have happened, so we can either take
advantage... or not. As you see fit,
Captain
.”

She was
standing under the lamp again, the bandana glowing, the fine wisps
of coppery hairs catching the light and shining in a fiery tangle
around her face. The air was as still and silent as the instant
before a lightning strike. So silent, Varian could hear Beacom’s
knees knocking together.

“
London,”
she mused at length. “I have heard it stinks worse than the bilge
of a slaver. That the people are so
friendly
they throw their offal on the heads of neighbors
passing on the streets below. I have even heard that the king
himself—” she paused and a humorless smile played about the corners
of her mouth— “prefers the companionship of pretty men in plumes
and lavender velvet.”